


Still Here

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caretaker John, M/M, before and after events, sherlock has brain damage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-17 07:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2301377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an incident, Sherlock becomes brain damaged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock sat, legs spread out, on the kitchen floor as John gingerly wiped his mouth splotched in the mash he had eaten. Cooing, John put the bowl back on the table and stood, reaching down with palms out, waiting for Sherlock to notice and grab on. 

 

He blinked back three slow times, then smiled and slapped his hands into John's, being hoisted to his feet. After a few seconds of unsteadiness and the watchful eye of John, Sherlock let go and began looking around once more.

 

John went about putting the dirty dish away, "Mrs. Hudson made that for you, you know." 

 

Sherlock made a noise, alerting the other he was listening. 

 

"You're going to have to thank her when she brings up tea later." John left the dishes unfinished in the sink and went back to his love, catching his attention with a hand to the cheek. He leans on his tip toes and gives a quick kiss. 

 

"It's okay, I'll remind you." Again, John lets one of his hands embrace Sherlock's, "Lets get you to bed, yeah? Just a quick nap, we both need it. I'll clean your wound, too, just to be safe." John began walking with the hand in his own, but a weight held him in place. 

 

"No." Sherlock urged him, arm bringing John back in. 

 

He sighs, "It won't hurt this time, I promise. No alcohol on it!" John pulls Sherlock with him as he begins walking once more, pulling the unsure man to the bedroom.   
"And then you sleep with me?" Sherlock begins walking. 

 

John chuckles, "Yeah, and then I'll sleep with you." 

 

…

John had his good times with Sherlock. He wouldn't call losing the love of his life to brain damage a bad thing because he didn't lose the love of his life at all. Sherlock was still there, alive, heart beating, and rude remarks without filter. 

 

Sherlock wasn't gone. 

 

Things just became a little more challenging. The adrenaline rush of a good case became the adrenaline rush of hearing Sherlock call out in his sleep, drenched and shaking. The amazing sex that'd leave both of them reeling switched to midnight cuddles and masturbation. 

 

John was assured Sherlock was there inside, that he wasn't brain dead at all. Sherlock who drugged his friends and kept eyes in the toaster oven was in his head waiting to come back to life. John saw that man at times. Once, he saw him while Sherlock was looking over a newspaper. 

 

John knew it was the old him too, because when he saw a story he didn't like he'd scoff and roll his eyes. John soaked it in, kept quiet as he watched from his chair. 

 

… 

"OUCH!" Sherlock cried out, pulling away from his John. 

 

"I lied, but I'm really not using alcohol! Sherlock, you've just got to keep still. Come back here." Gauze in hand, he ushered him over. Silently, Sherlock complied. 

 

"Thank you, I'm nearly done." A minute more of Sherlock gritting his teeth, hands in the sheets over his legs, and John was done. "There." 

 

"Kiss." Sherlock asked him, looking from under his curls. 

 

John put quick peck to his forehead, then Sherlock shook his head away. "KISS!" 

 

Sitting on the bed properly, John scooted closer, understanding what he wanted. "Oh, you want me to give you more than a little kiss, then?" And Sherlock nodded and pulled John's arm to his chest. 

 

"One kiss, then we're taking a nap. Okay? Now, close your eyes." 

 

Excitement in his eyes, Sherlock closed his eyes and waited. 

 

Sometimes, John would let himself get carried away. Like now, he pressed in close, let a free hand skim through Sherlock's curls before he put his lips gently on Sherlock's lips. Of course Sherlock responds, any time John gives him desperately needed contact, he responds almost like he used to. The moment the kiss deepens, John pulls back, he always does. 

 

Sherlock pouts, leaning in, but John puts his hand up. "Sleep, yeah?" 

 

He nods back, eyes going vacant again as he scoots down on the bed and rests his head.


	2. Chapter 2

(A week before the incident) 

 

"Maybe one year we can go out for Halloween..." Sherlock purred to John from the kitchen as he stripped, leaving John in the living room, "...We could dress like two well known's from The Rocky Horror Picture Show..." 

 

His eyes light up as he seduces John with his eyes, unbuttoning his shirt button by button revealing the hair on his chest and happy trail. John chuckles, shucking his shirts over his head, "I am not wearing gold pants in the middle of October." 

 

"Oh no?" He unbuckles his belt undoes his fly and shoved everything he's got with one go, "I think you'd like seeing me squeezed in a corset, packed with heavy makeup." 

 

John walks forward now, hands pulling the naked man against his clothed hip, "Mm, naked is better." And mouths and gnaws into Sherlock's pectoral. Groaning, Sherlock pulls him off and hops his naked tush onto the kitchen table and growls. 

 

John takes in the sight of Sherlock, legs spread wide, balls hanging low. "Naked is much better, actually." His hands go to Sherlock's thighs, and his knees to the ground, looking up. 

 

"Is my Doctor going to prepare me, now?" The detective asked, hooking a leg over his back and stroking the skin there with his heel. 

 

"Yeah, then we should move this to the bedroom." 

 

… 

John stood to shed his shirt then climbed into bed. Sherlock was still faced the other way, huddled in on himself, quiet. 

 

So, he scooted up behind his love and wrapped a loose arm over the thin body, curling his hand into Sherlock's. "Sweet dreams." John whispered into his shoulder. 

 

Sherlock doesn't respond immediately, and instead of talking (which he avoids most of the time), he squeezes John's hand, pulling it up closer to his chest. A noise of contentment escapes his lips. 

 

John's eyes close, a smile sets on his face as his world dims to sleep. 

 

… 

Hovering over Sherlock, arms on each side of his head, noses touching, John grunts and pushes inside his partner. Sherlock's legs are slack but spread wide to accommodate John's hips and cock. His eyes shut tight and he grunts brokenly, blowing air into John's face. 

 

When John's bottoms out, he doesn't stop to wait, his hips pull out. There's the sound of lube and skin. "Deep." Sherlock begs out as John thrusts in, "I need it deep." His hand goes down to feel John's rigid dick slowly building a rhythm. 

 

"Yeah" He agrees, and begins going faster. There's a repetitive 'pap' every time his skin meets Sherlock's arse. "God", John sighs, "I can't last." 

 

Feeling the rapid thrusts, every third or so grazing his prostate, Sherlock's eyes still pop open, "Last for me, John, I need it." He's whining, throaty, and voice unwillingly letting loose low squeals. John puts his head into Sherlock's head, then, going to his elbows, keeping up the pace. 

 

He's growing unsteady, "Touch yourself" He orders, mouth resting on his neck. 

 

John could have known the moment Sherlock grabbed his prick by the tightening and fluttering of his arse around his prick. It makes his mouth water, and saliva escapes his mouth and is smeared into Sherlock neck. 

 

"Come inside me, please, John. I just need you to fill me, and I'm ready!" His hand works feverishly between their sweaty bodies. 

 

The sound of their flesh impacting is loud now, John's panting hard and straining at his lovers words. "I'm so close, I'm coming." His hand comes to grip into Sherlock's thigh as he pumps with what he has left, silently screaming as his orgasm reaches surface. 

 

Sherlock lets out a long groan the moment John's hot seed begins filling him and his hand begins flying over his erection. "God." 

 

Two more thrusts and John stills and sits up, watching Sherlock come undone. He was a wreck, flushed on his cheeks and chest. His spit on his neck. 

 

And Sherlock held his hand at the base of his prick as come spurted out, short little appreciative bursts onto his stomache. 

 

"Oh, darling, you've done so good." John flattered him, still connected as he smeared the come on Sherlock torso and leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek. "So good."


	3. Chapter 3

John is awoken only hours later by Sherlock crying loudly and incoherently. The nap lasted maybe thirty minutes. "Hey! Hey, sweetheart, why are you crying?" 

Sherlock shakes his head, in fetal position, wailing with an open mouth. His hands are open and facing himself. 

"Sherlock, darling, look at me. You're safe, I'm here, we just took a nap." John's was trying to wake himself up, and leaned to his knees over the man. Sherlock turned his head slowly, shooting him a look he never wished to see. 

"I know.." John took him into his arms, pulling the heavy detective into an embrace, "Shh." 

He quieted immediately, breathing sporadically. His hands went down, too. 

"Can you tell me what happened? Was it a dream?" 

Sherlock took a second before shaking his head a 'no'. John licked his lips, "Do you want to go back to sleep?" 

Sherlock was sticky with sweat, apparently having been having a nightmare. He shook his head 'no' again. 

John pressed a kiss to his forehead, "Do you want to take a bath and then drink some tea?" 

He didn't move at that, he just looked to John with red, puffy eyes. 

"Okay, wait here, and I'll get your bath ready." 

Sherlock scooted back under the covers and watched his John leave the room. 

He was stuck in his head. He was chained to watch people go about their lives, and hold others back.   
His body was too slow, his words wouldn't articulate. His emotions, the worst part, were everywhere. 

The longer he stayed inside this head of his, the more of himself he lost. 

He felt guilty as well. 

As John entered the room and stripped his body down, Sherlock wished he could grab him by the shoulders and scream how sorry he was for ruining his life. 

This is why he woke up crying. He was remembering the last time they were intimate, and it made him sick. He couldn't have that anymore with his John. He went to bed at night knowing that John was in another room, bringing himself pleasure, because Sherlock couldn't. 

Of course, Sherlock wanted John to move on. As John helped lift Sherlock's legs into the warm bathwater, and helped sit him comfortably down, Sherlock contemplated that fact. While John got out a razor and began shaving the stubble off his face, Sherlock thought about how John could be with some woman. 

But John won't leave him. Sherlock wishes he will, but John is too reliable. 

"Lean back, and I'll get your hair." John's words were always, every day, so caring. He tilted Sherlock into the water and began massaging his scalp with his favorite shampoo careful of the wound and it's surrounding area. 

Their faces were in front of one another. 

Sherlock stared at him, trying his hardest to convey gratitude, but all he saw repeated back at him was worry. His face was always in a constant look of worry. Sherlock looked up at him and noticed this.   
How his forehead had a permanent crease, and how his lips were tight. 

"Love... y- you." Sherlock wished his two worded phase could hold up more meaning than that, but they moved something in John. 

Quickly, John rinsed his hair free of shampoo, and worked to get a towel. 

Sherlock thought he was avoiding what he said, until John turned back around with a frown and bleary eyes. He had made John sad. 

"Grab my hand, and I'll wrap you up." Suddenly, John's voice was scratchy and weak. Sherlock didn't want to upset him further so he complied as quickly as his arms would allow. 

Standing, and being swaddled in a white fluffy towel, Sherlock looked at John again. 

He was distressed. "I love you." And John finally responded, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's body, setting his cheek against the side of Sherlock's wet face. "I love you, so much. God, if you only knew."


	4. Chapter 4

John went to get Sherlock's dressing gown and pants with a sniffle. He returned and set the naked Holmes on the closed toilet seat to blow dry his hair. 

 

It felt good, it always felt good to Sherlock. To have John's fingers in his hair, moving along his scalp, it felt good. Though, now, there were changed in how John could do this. 

 

He had to avoid the loud noise of the dryer, so he'd put cotton in Sherlock's ears. He had to put his hand cupped over the wound the whole time. But it was nearly natural now. 

 

Sherlock would hook his fingers into John's belt loop, looking up with a relaxed grin. John smiled back at him, trying to hide his puffy eyes. 

 

When he was done, he'd put Sherlock's pants on, and slowly help him into the dressing gown. 

 

He led Sherlock to his chair, grabbing a blanket to put across his lap. "Stay here, I'll get your tea and sit with you." John talked to Sherlock who was in his forever daze. He knew Sherlock listened though. 

 

After pouring the tea, he knelt in front of Sherlock to present it. He had to watch over Sherlock when he handled the glass wear. Every now and then, his nerves will get a jump or his muscles will go slack and anything in his hands will fall. 

 

He ends up sitting on the ground, there, just to the left of Sherlock's feet. He listened to the slow sips. Soon, he rested his head on Sherlock's knees, and that short nap that was cut too short caught up with him. 

 

Why couldn't he nap? The flat grew warm, the blanket on Sherlock's legs was soft. It was ideal. 

 

Maybe twenty more minutes passed, and John was woken up by Sherlock rocking his shoulder. Repetitively and constant. 

 

"Hmm, huh?" John looked up at Sherlock who tried his best to convince John to look across the room. 

 

It was Mrs. Hudson. "Oh, if I knew you had already made tea, I would've brought some snacks instead." She carried her usual tray of tea. 

 

"I... I" Sherlock tried, but John stood and shushed him with a peck, "It's fine Sherlock." He turned to Mrs. Hudson, "We took a short nap, so I gave him a bath and.. well, we were thirsty." 

 

Setting the tray down, Mrs. Hudson walked over to Sherlock, "That's alright, then." Slowly, she took the cup from him and walked to set it down. Her attention then towards John who was tired and nearly dead to the world. 

 

"Dear." She sighs. "I know it's not my place to judge things like this, but..." Her eyes roam self consciously, "You've been boggled down lately, and if you need some alone time, out of the flat, I wouldn't mind looking after Sherlock." 

 

John looks up to Sherlock, going to sit in his own chair nervously, eyes still set on him, "Sherlock isn't my burden. I know you didn't mean it that way, but everyone seems to look at me like he is. It's as if I'm the one broken and not him." 

 

Sherlock looked right back at him. Of course John was talking to Mrs. Hudson, but he knew what John was doing. He was reassuring him. 

 

"Neither of us are in need of fixing, actually." 

 

Mrs. Hudson jitters around in the kitchen, "Oh, you know I didn't want to start trouble. I just felt you'd need a brief change in scenery that's all!" 

 

Sherlock's brows furrow, they rarely do anything at all, and his hand grips into the blankets hard. "John" He manages, though coming out more as a 'chawn' or 'shawn'. 

 

"Darling, don't get upset, I'm not leaving you. Though," And John raises his voice for Hudson, "I give thanks for the offer!" 

 

But Sherlock thinks hard, it's written on his face as his knuckles turn white, eyes screwing shut before popping open. "Go!" and in a more somber, pleading voice, "please".   
Mrs. Hudson goes still, and John stops himself halfway between leaning over to him. 

 

"P-please? You, Sherlock, you want me to go?"


	5. Chapter 5

Of course Sherlock wanted John to go, he needed him to. Feeling like a nuisance to the only person he loves, Sherlock wished he could just stand up and push John out. 

 

He wishes he could force him to have a good time for once. 

 

"See, John? Even Sherlock here thinks it would be a good idea!" Mrs. Hudson threw a rag in the sink and walked over to pat at Sherlock's shoulder. 

 

John stared at the floor, not Sherlock. 

 

Processing and processing, John kept an even breath. "Okay." 

 

Though, Sherlock didn't think John looked all too great. His hands held onto the blanket still in his lap, and he produces the best smile he could to convince him. 

 

"I'm going out, okay?" John clarified that his "okay" meant, "okay". 

 

… 

 

Greg made his appearance into the pub around three. It was an early drink, but the tone of John's voice on the phone was far more important. 

 

He saw the doctor sitting at a booth, looking grey, and slumped into a new form of himself. 

 

"Greg." John looked up to him as Greg sat down, not giving him a smile but looking somewhat content. 

 

"John." Nodding back, respectively, he sat down, greeted by the beer John had ordered for him. 

 

It was silent as John sat staring, Greg sipped his beer, and the rumble of the rest of the pub grew louder. 

 

Until John coughed, nervous. "It's, uh, Sherlock. You know he's changed." 

 

Greg sat up straight, "I haven't had the chance to visit since the accident. However, I was told he was in a bad way." 

 

"He came home from the hospital yesterday. I signed myself as his caretaker, but-" 

 

Swallowing what was in his mouth, Greg cut him off, "Caretaker? Sherlock needs a caretaker?" 

 

John got still before nodding, avoiding eye contact, "Greg, he's sick. His brain is sick. The doctor's have his head wrapped in pretty well, but that's not why I'm his caretaker." 

 

"Why, then?" 

 

John took another long, lingering sip. "He has brain damage. He sits there in his bed just staring, and I'm beginning to wonder if he realizes I'm in the room. I had to feed him his first meal, and everything just dripped from his mouth. For now he's in adult diapers of all things until he and I work it out. And. And Greg! I'm being tested." 

 

This was news to Greg. He had no clue how wrecked this whole situation was. It was bound to happen, but he never figured it a reality. But he knew no matter how much he wasn't going to believe his own words, no matter how shocked he was, he had to reassure John. 

 

"Sherlock isn't gone. You may look at him and see a vacancy, but I can tell you Sherlock is inside there. He's trapped, John, and he needs you. He may not be able to express himself, but he really wasn't good at that beforehand. Now, Sherlock is depending on you to be there every moment. Don't tell me you are in a worse way than he is." 

 

John had forgotten his beer. The pub was still a dull roar. "I love him." He cried out. 

 

Greg put a fist on the table, "Yes, and he loves you back! It's time you showed him that what happened to him isn't scary, that he isn't lost forever. Of all people I'm telling this to, it's you, John." 

 

… 

 

John had left that night. He had taken Sherlock from his chair, and set him up a good place on the couch with the telly. But the hard thing was leaving Mrs. Hudson alone with him. 

 

Questions ran through his mind. 'Will she remember his medication at eight?' 'Can Mrs. Hudson recognize his, I need to pee, gesture?' 'Will he be okay?' 

 

But he had to forget about his worry. He needed to have a good time. Sherlock wanted him too.


End file.
